Nightly you lure me with your false beauty.
You dance before me, unhurried and unaware of your infatuated observer. Occasionally you are hidden by mystified air – but this only heightens my intrigue.
Captivated with the breathlessness of a mourning lover, I await your presence as I stare deeply into the otherwise dark abyss. A nothingness that is forever away yet painfully close.
And there you are. Rising like a siren – calling across that empty space to me and me alone.
I suppose we both know that this isn’t true. And time, as ever, provides the answer.
As night passes to day, I escape the black to where light shines anew and your truth is spelled out to me.
You offer me no light of your own, no substance of yourself.
You are an imagination.